


dedue and the seven lions

by asael



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Snow White Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael
Summary: Dedue, having lost everything thanks to an evil queen, finds new friends deep in the forest. But when dark magic attacks them, how can the curse be broken?
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	dedue and the seven lions

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my offering for day 3 of Ashedue Week, on the theme of 'fairy tale'! I hope you enjoy!

Once upon a time, in the land of Duscur, there lived a young man named Dedue.

Dedue was a gentle boy, but he was strong as well. Though he was not at all talkative, he was still beloved by his family and his people for his kind ways and his dedication. He loved his family with all his heart, and all he wished for in the world was to live out his days peacefully. But it was not to be.

In the neighboring kingdom of Faerghus lived a queen who craved power above all things. Queen Cornelia had not always been queen - she had wrested the throne from the former king, killed the young prince, and taken control of the land. The people of Duscur watched her ascension warily, as did all of Faerghus’ neighbors, but that was not their land. They did not interfere.

Once she gained the throne she sought, however, Cornelia’s ambitions turned outward. She wished for the entire continent to be under her thumb, and Duscur, a nearby and peaceful land, was her first target.

She attacked without warning, and the people of Duscur had no chance against her. Her magic was too powerful, her army too strong, and they were given no time to prepare. Villages were destroyed, people killed, and Duscur fell.

Dedue’s village was the first to fall. When the soldiers came, he was out in the hills, hunting for herbs to season his family’s dinner. That, and only that, was what spared him, for Cornelia wished her first strike to be utterly without remorse. She razed his village to the ground and left not one villager alive.

When Dedue returned from the hills, he found his family dead, his home destroyed. All that he loved had been lost, and he had been unable to protect the things he cared for most in the world.

What could he do except mourn? What could he do, when the soldiers returned to be certain of their work, but flee?

He thought, at first, of fighting. If he had lost all that he loved, what use was it to live on? But Dedue had never been the sort of boy who lost himself to despair. Even drowning in grief, even inches away from madness, he knew one thing: if Duscur was to survive, even if it was only in his memories, then he would also have to survive. If there was to be any chance of justice, of restoration, of healing - then he could not die pointlessly.

And so he fled. He fled his homeland, he fled into the forests and hills of Faerghus, the places no one lived, the places where no one could find him. He did not have a plan beyond survival, beyond mourning his losses. Beyond counting his breaths, one after another, to prove that he still lived. 

He wandered the countryside, hunting to survive, blank with grief. He might have wandered forever, if he had not stumbled across a makeshift camp buried deep within the forest. He had been following a deer’s trail, thinking of little beyond securing his dinner for the night, when he found the camp - and, a moment later, the tip of a sword pressed at his throat.

“Who are you?” the owner of the sword said. His voice was harsh and cold, and his amber eyes glittered over the blade. “How did you find us?”

Dedue did not know how long it had been since he’d spoken to someone. He’d lost track of time in the days after the deaths of his family, mired in grief that made him unable to tell one sunrise from the next. His voice, when he finally used it, was rusty. “I did not know you were here,” he said. “I do not know who you are.”

The man grunted, unsatisfied, but before he could ask another question he was joined by a second young man. Neither of them could be older than Dedue himself, he was sure - perhaps they were even younger. But each held weapons. The new arrival held a bow, an arrow nocked to the string but lowered, so it was not pointing at Dedue. His eyes were green, and a spray of freckles spilled over his nose and cheeks.

His eyes were not narrowed, were not unfriendly, though they were wary. He approached with some caution, but his eyes widened when he saw Dedue.

“Look, Felix,” he said. “His hair, his skin - he must be from Duscur.”

Felix seemed unmoved. “Then what is he doing here? We ought to kill him, so he cannot give our location away to the queen.”

It took only that one word - _queen_ \- for Dedue to find his strength. He straightened upright and took in the scene again. For the first time, really. The camp was small, and though his initial thought was that it was a hunter’s camp, Dedue’s keen eyes picked out things that did not belong: swords, lances, armor. Horses.

It was not a hunter’s camp, and whoever’s camp it was did not want the queen to find them.

“I am no friend to the queen,” Dedue said. He looked, not at Felix, but at the slender green-eyed boy. “She murdered my family and destroyed my home. My country.” He had not said it aloud until that moment, and the truth of it weighed heavy upon his heart.

“How are we to know that you tell the truth?” Felix said, his words harsh, but the other boy slid his arrow out of his bow.

“Wait here,” he said. “I will get His Hi - Dimitri.”

Felix scowled at the sound of the name. Later, Dedue learned that was because he assumed the name alone gave away who the camp belonged to, how important they were - but he had no way of knowing that Dedue had never known the name of the former crown prince of Faerghus. He had never needed to.

But that was, as he discovered, who the camp belonged to. Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, who had once been next in line for the throne of Faerghus until the queen stole it from him, destroying his family in the process and forcing him to flee in order to preserve his own life. He had fled here, with his most loyal subjects and now - once Dedue had told his story in halting, painful sentences - he welcomed Dedue, as well.

There were seven of them, he learned. They called themselves Lions, after the crest of Faerghus, and they wished to return their prince to the throne.

Dimitri lead them all. He had the manners and bearing of a prince, but Dedue could see darkness lurking inside - the pain of losing his home, his family. He did not, could not blame the prince. After all, he was no different. 

He was followed by friends who had loved him since childhood: Felix, the uncompromising swordsman who had found Dedue at the edge of their camp. Sylvain, who always wore a smile no matter how it might curdle with bitterness. Ingrid, chivalrous and loyal, the picture of a knight, despite being raised as a noblewoman.

They had been joined, over the months since the deaths of the royal family, by others who believed in Dimitri’s cause. Annette, cheerful and hardworking. Mercedes, whose healing powers and gentle personality soothed them all.

And Ashe, the young archer who had listened to Dedue, who had lowered his weapon.

They all believed wholeheartedly in Dimitri, and Dedue could not help but do so as well. Somewhere deep in his heart he had not expected to care for anyone ever again, not after the loss of his family and his homeland. But the Lions welcomed him, gave him a place to lay his head and slowly but surely Dedue began to awaken from his grief.

It did not happen immediately. He didn’t even realize it as it was happening. But once Prince Dimitri had decreed that he was welcome to stay, the rest of the Lions welcomed him in their own ways. Felix, it was true, never entirely warmed up to him - but then, Felix, it seemed, had little use for warmth in any of his relationships. The others spoke to Dedue, helped him, made him feel welcome.

Sylvain provided him with an extra tent, a place to finally rest. Mercedes healed his wounds and his weariness from long weeks alone in the forest. Ingrid, though wary, gave him an axe to use to protect them all. Annette smiled at him and treated him like a friend, so easily.

But Dedue did not truly begin to feel welcome until Ashe came to him one morning and asked, quietly, if Dedue could show him where to find the best herbs.

They went into the forest together. The plants here were not so different from those in Duscur - they were, after all, not far from Dedue’s homeland. So he knew what to pick, he knew what was in season and what would taste best in the evening’s meal. Ashe listened quietly, smiled at him without fear, and asked careful questions.

He asked what Dedue would have used these herbs for at home, how they would have become part of a dish. And when Dedue told him, Ashe smiled again and asked to be shown how to cook it.

So, when they returned to camp, Dedue showed Ashe how to cook the food of his homeland. The food his mother had made at their hearth, the food he’d eaten so often growing up, until it was as much a part of him as the land or the sky.

It felt as if it had been years since he smelled those scents, tasted those flavors. It brought tears to his eyes, though he did not loose them down his cheeks - that felt, somehow, as if he would be admitting such things were gone forever. And, he knew now, they weren’t.

If he had lived, others must have. If people like Ashe, who knew nothing of Duscur except tales, were willing to learn more, then he could find other ways to bring his people to life again.

And if Prince Dimitri and his Lions killed the queen, he would have the chance to do so.

It was then that Dedue truly swore his loyalty to the prince. With the promise of life, of possibility, hidden away deep in his heart he felt that he could do so - indeed, he felt that he _must_ do so.

He cooked for his new friends and allies, serving them the food of Duscur. He hunted for game and for roots, berries, and wild plants alongside Ashe. Mercedes asked him quietly about his home, his family, and he shared his stories. He practiced with Ingrid’s axe until he felt that he could fight alongside the Lions - because, of course, fighting was what they meant to do.

They were biding their time, gathering their strength. Prince Dimitri was reaching out to allies and readying himself to attack the capital, to bring down the queen who had taken everything from them. His cause was just, and Dedue intended to be at his side when the time came for battle. And it was, indeed, fast approaching.

It was approaching, and Dedue’s trust in his companions was growing. Some did not seem that they would ever love him, but that was fine. Love was unnecessary. What mattered was trust, being able to fight together, and Dedue believed that was possible.

And when it came to friendship, it seemed he was not without it. Mercedes was kind, and always willing to speak to him. Prince Dimitri, though often occupied by his own thoughts and demons, never failed to give Dedue time when he wished for it.

And then there was Ashe.

Ashe, who had welcomed him into their camp. Ashe, who had helped him realize there were still things to live for, to fight for. Ashe, who sought him out to hunt, to cook, or simply to walk through the woods.

Ashe was a lovely young man, and a kind one, and he did not hide his affection for Dedue. The friendship between them blossomed easily, with Ashe unwilling to be put off by Dedue’s quiet nature and Dedue finding himself easily endeared to Ashe’s gentle persistence. It was a friendship - but it was something else, too. 

Dedue had courted no young woman in his village, had never considered it before the tragedy that befell him. He did not know how to do so now, how to even begin doing so, and - in truth - he didn’t think it was the time. In his heart was a seed of something far beyond friendship, something ready to sprout. But he told himself no. He told himself not yet, not until he had a home to offer Ashe. Not until his dreams felt like they might be possible.

And if that never happened, it was for the best. Ashe was easy to love, and Dedue believed that he of all people deserved the best that life might be able to offer him.

And so he didn’t speak of his feelings. They looked too long at each other, and when their hands touched Dedue felt his heart stutter - saw Ashe’s cheeks pink. But still he said nothing, and so neither did Ashe. But he always smiled when he saw Dedue, and even their companions could see the embers of what was between them.

They prepared, they built their strength, honed their skills. Prince Dimitri was restless, but still waited, wanting to strike at the right moment.

Perhaps one of the allies he’d reached out to had betrayed them. Perhaps it was the queen’s dark magic that found them. Dedue never knew how the queen discovered their location, but once she had found them, she did not send her forces to destroy them. Perhaps she feared their power - all were fierce warriors - or perhaps she was afraid that, upon seeing their prince still lived, her soldiers would desert her.

Whatever reason she had, instead of a battalion of warriors she sent one lone assassin. They bore a poisoned dart, meant for Prince Dimitri. It would have found its mark, ended the hopes of the prince and his Lions in a moment, if not for Dedue.

He saw a movement in the bushes, from the corner of his eye, and he moved. It was unconscious, the movement of a protector, a natural-born guardian. He placed himself between the prince and his attacker, and so it was that Dedue took the dart meant for Dimitri.

Dedue fell, and the camp rose to life. The assassin could only flee, with no chance to attempt their mission again. Behind them, they left Dedue close to death and the Lions bubbling with fury at the loss of one of their own.

The poison in the dart meant for the prince was strong. Dedue fell to the ground, the breath leaving his lungs, the light from his eyes. There was nothing the Lions could do to save him. They were left only to mourn his loss and curse the one who had taken him from them.

They were consumed with anger, with grief. Since Dedue had joined them, his quiet kindness and bravery had imprinted themselves upon the hearts of his companions. His loss - and his loss protecting their prince, above all - shook them deeply.

They laid out Dedue’s body, cool and still, and at Ashe and Mercedes’ insistence, surrounded him with flowers. Prince Dimitri proclaimed that it was time, that in the name of their fallen friend and all that they had lost to the queen, they must fight.

And so the Lions collected their weapons, their armor, their righteous fury. They marched to battle, out of the forest and to the castle, bringing their anger to the queen.

But one hung back, staying until the camp was clear, until the only thing left was brave Dedue in his bed of flowers. Alone, Ashe approached his fallen friend and knelt down at Dedue’s side. His heart demanded a private farewell, for his words and his tears were meant for no one else.

“I was a coward. I let my fear keep me from telling you the truth - telling you about my feelings. And now you are lost, and all I can do is regret that, regret everything I didn’t say, everything I didn’t do. Dedue… I’m sorry.” Ashe let his tears fall, his body wracked with grief. “I loved you. I will always love you.”

And, for what he knew would be the first and last time, he bent and pressed his lips to Dedue’s. A farewell, an apology, a gesture of only love. Then he rose, collected his weapons, and followed his companions to fight the queen.

Unbeknownst to all of the Lions, the dart had not contained poison, but magic. Though it would have killed Prince Dimitri in an instant, Dedue - larger, hardier, and not the man the spell was meant for - had been plunged into a deep, unbroken sleep. In truth, it would have been no different than death. He would have wasted away, died slowly over the course of weeks, except that the queen’s magic had a fatal flaw. This had always been true, though she did her best to conceal it, though none knew the truth. There was one thing that could shatter any of her enchantments, that could turn her magic in on itself.

And that, of course, was love.

When Ashe pressed his lips to Dedue’s, the magic of their love splintered the queen’s spell. If it had worked in an instant, Ashe would have seen the results of his confession - but the spell was too strong, too deeply seated for that. No, it took time to lift, and by the time Dedue was able to open his eyes and move from his grave of blossoms, Ashe was long gone.

But Dedue remembered every word he had spoken, and Dedue was no fool. He understood then the queen’s magic, and he understood how she could be defeated.

He rose from his bier. He took an axe, armor, a shield, because magic was not all that he might face. And then he marched into battle, following the Lions, who had sheltered and befriended him for so long.

He did have to fight, on the journey. Some soldiers had fled, but some remained, and Dedue faced them with strength and courage. He fought through the opposition, he found his way to the castle, and it was there that he found the Lions.

They had made it so far. Weapons in hand, they’d confronted the queen - and she, powerful and full of hate, cast a spell. When Dedue arrived in the throne room, axe in one hand, he saw them there. They held their weapons just as he did, ready to fight, ready to do all that they could - but she had frozen them in place.

She sat upon the throne, eyes blazing. Before her was the figure of Prince Dimitri, lance in hand, ready to strike - but unable to move.

But it was not him who Dedue looked for.

It was Ashe, who stood at the back of the Lions, bow held, an arrow nocked. Dedue saw him, and his heart felt full. He did not even look at the queen, not now that he saw Ashe. He stepped forward instead, and the enchantment could not touch him, because now he knew what would break it.

“No,” Queen Cornelia said, but there was nothing she could do.

“Ashe,” Dedue said, and he reached out to touch Ashe’s fingers, curled around the bow. “I love you. I did from the beginning. I believe I always will.”

Just as Ashe had in the woods, Dedue bent forward to press his lips to his love. 

And the queen, who had never known love, only hatred and avarice, could not stand against it. Her magic shattered under the force of Dedue’s love, the force of the love he shared with Ashe. It shattered, and the Lions were freed.

Prince Dimitri, frozen a moment before victory, was freed.

His lance pierced the heart of the queen - or whatever remained of her. She screamed, once, still full of anger, and then she was gone.

All across the land, her enchantments shattered. Her enemies were freed from their bonds, the country was freed from its servitude. All manner of things happened after that - Prince Dimitri took the throne and became King. The people rejoiced, the land healed. Duscur healed as well, under the guidance of Dedue and all of his people who were left.

But first, in that throne room, Ashe awoke.

His eyes shone where they met Dedue’s, shone with tears and all the emotions he tried to control. “Are you - is it true?” he said, his heart fragile, his voice weak. “You’re alive.”

“I am alive,” Dedue said, and he raised his hand to cup Ashe’s cheek. Finally, he brushed his thumb over the freckles that speckled that perfect cheek, and then he leaned in again and pressed his lips to Ashe’s. 

Ashe sighed, and curled his arms around Dedue’s neck, and the world fell away. It was only the two of them and their love, the love that had shattered the evil queen’s magic, the love that had given them all a future.

They kissed there for some time, as Dimitri secured his victory. And after the prince had ascended the throne, Ashe followed Dedue to Duscur, where they both devoted their lives to rebuilding the land itself and strengthening the bonds between it and Faerghus. The eve of their wedding was the ultimate expression of those bonds - but nothing could match the happiness in the eyes of Dedue, the hero of Duscur, and Ashe, the Archer of Faerghus, when they looked at each other. All of the Lions attended their wedding, and cheered when they kissed.

And, of course, they lived happily ever after.


End file.
